Kigurumi Time!
by CyborgWithGreatHair
Summary: If your could be anything, what would you be? Come with Tank on a humorous, and possibly frustrating journey to find out. A series of short one shots about the Merry Men told from Tank's POV.
1. Hal

_So there I was, minding my own business while reading some fanfic earlier this afternoon, when all of a sudden a scene burst into my head of Hal in a dinosaur onesie. This then lead to me and my bestie assigning a onesie to each Rangeman and the formulation of a story idea. It will be executed in many short chapters and told entirely from Tank's perspective. I hope you enjoy it._

 **Kigurumi Time!**

A growl left my throat as the phone rang out for the third time in a row. Cal had just received a tip off about one of our higher end skips and we needed to act on it fast before he disappeared again, but I couldn't get a hold of Hal to confirm what intel he'd managed to dig up earlier to verify if it was a reliable tip or if someone was just screwing with us. I might have just grabbed the file from the out tray on the desk in his cubicle, but the guy was a complete slob. Finding the right file would take ages and time was of the essence here.

I stalked down stairs to the fourth floor and made a beeline for his apartment, wasting no time in pounding a fist against the door and yelling at him to wake the fuck up. It took a full minute for him to get the door open and when he did I wasn't even sure what I was looking at. He'd been asleep, for sure; he was still rubbing sleep from his eyes. But what the hell was he wearing? It was green and yellow and…

"Is that a dinosaur costume?" I demanded, all thoughts of the information I needed to get from him having been pushed from my mind at the sight of his absurd attire.

He yawned, taking a moment to look down at himself, like he'd forgotten what he was wearing. "It's a Kigurumi," he informed me, scratching his head through the dinosaur-head-shaped hood.

"A what?" I'd never heard of a Kiga- whatever he'd just said.

"A Kigurumi," he repeated. "A onesie."

"I thought only babies wore onesies," I pointed out.

He shook his head, flipping off the hood so he could better satisfy his head itch. "Not anymore. They're all the rage."

I blinked once, struggling to compute. I'd never thought of Hal as one to be on trend. In fact, he was quite definitely off trend. It begged the question, "Why are you wearing it?"

Hal blushed and shrugged. "Steph got it for me. It's surprisingly comfortable." He paused, glancing down at himself again before adding. "And warm."

It definitely seemed like the kind of gift Steph would give. "Why a dinosaur onesie?" I asked, purely out of curiosity. As far as I knew, Hal had no interest in dinosaurs, or archaeology. Hell, when we'd all gone to see Jurassic World Last year he'd said he wasn't interested. Why a dinosaur?

The blush that had been fading away immediately intensified and he avoided looking at me at all costs. "Because I'm her Halasaurus," he told my shoe, then, travelling his gaze back upward, he asked, "Did you really just wake me up to talk about my pyjamas?"

"No," I said firmly, remembering the skip. "You need to go upstairs and talk to Cal. We got a tip on Shaperov that we need to verify."

He looked down at his onesie yet again, then up to me. "Do I need to get changed? I'm not technically due to be on shift until-"

My fist clenched as I attempted to not hurl him across the hall. "Just get the fuck up there, Hal," I commanded. "Time is money!" And with that, I turned on my heel, stalking towards the elevator. I was glad when I heard the click of his door and a moment later his green and yellow form zoomed past me en route of the stairwell. The guy was an absolute lamb. He trembled at the very thought of invoking my or Ranger's wrath, and yet Steph saw fit to dress him as a dinosaur? I shook my head, pressing the call button for the elevator. Not just any dinosaur, I reminded myself. A green and yellow cutesy t-rex. What the fuck?

 ** _Stay tuned to find out what kind of onesie each of the guys has._**


	2. Bobby

_**Dear Annonymous Reviewer,**_

 _ **People Swear.**_

 ** _"Fuck," Ranger said._**

 ** _Ranger didn't often curse and he rarely raised his voice. The fuck has been entirely conversational. Like he was now midly inconvenienced. (To the Nines)_**

 ** _"It's fucking hard to be classy" (Connie, One for the Money)_**

 ** _"I'm fucking speechless," Morelli finally said. (Hard Eight)_**

 ** _"Fuckin' A" (Lula, To the Nines)_**

 ** _"Damn, piss, shit, fuck." (Seven up)_**

 ** _Sincerely, Someone who has the guts to put a name to their words._**

 **2 – Bobby**

It was pitch black. I'd lost my night vision goggles somewhere in the woods bordering the lot. I had my back pressed against a steel wall, gun in hand and ready to be used as I peered around the corner, hoping to spot the goddamned skip before he spotted me. Somehow, the routine drive-by had turned into a foot race through the warehouse district. When the punk climbed a ten foot fence to get away from me and Cal we were left in the dust, neither of us having small enough feet to just stick a toe in between the links and heave ourselves up and over the top. I'd given Cal a boost, knowing that even as strong as he was I'd be a struggle to lift, and circled the perimeter to find a gate with a lock I could pick. It had taken precious time and in the process I'd track of both the skip and Cal.

Sighing, I glanced back over my shoulder to be sure nobody was sneaking up on me. Knowing my luck the kid had crossed the lot and jumped straight back out when he saw we weren't following quite so quickly. Stupid hipster with his slim line shoes. My hands were probably wider than his feet.

I crept around the corner, not daring to call out to Cal and give away my position. We'd cross paths again soon enough, or he'd give some signal that he was on the trail again. Just as I had the thought, a shot rang out in the dark, followed almost immediately by an anguished yell. I turned in the direction the sounds had come and started back down the side of the building I'd just been pressed again.

"He's heading for the front of the warehouse," Cal's voice informed me through the comm in my ear. He sounded like he was gritting his teeth. Did that mean the wounded cry had come from him? I didn't bother asking. Stealth was the key. I was approaching the front corner of the building, scanning for signs of movement when a second shot pierced the air. For a second I hoped that Cal had recovered from whatever injury he'd sustained and managed to exact his revenge on the skip, but then the burning pain erupted in my arm just below my the elbow.

My hand spasmed, dropping the gun it held and I let out a curse, quickly dodging out of sight.

"Tank?" Cal's voice asked, still sounding strained.

"The bastard shot me," I gritted out, crouching and using my foot to slide the dropped weapon over to my substandard hiding place.

"Join the club," he muttered.

Breathing hard, I attempted to get a grip on the gun with my dominant hand, but it wasn't responding with the precision and strength I needed. I switched hands, knowing I was capable of shooting accurately with my left hand at least eighty-five percent of the time thanks to my military training and the diversity of my range time devotions. If I could at least tag him, slow him down, I might still be able to salvage this night.

Sliding along the wall, I peered around the corner again, spotting him just as he slipped through the gate I'd so helpfully left open for him. I got off three rounds, each missing him so closely that he jumped and rolled to get away, disappearing between to buildings a ways down.

"I'm ready to call it quits," I said for Cal's benefit. "Let him get away this time. We'll just rain down harder on him next time we catch up with him." Cal made a sound that might have been agreement, but also might have been a moan of pain. "Where'd he tag you?" I asked, pulling out my phone to use as a flashlight as I made my way around to the other side of the building where I thought he probably was.

"Thigh," he said. "Probably just a flesh wound but it hurts like a motherfucker."

"I know the feeling," I assured him, spotting him leaning heavily on the wall as he hobbled in my direction. I directed the beam of light toward his left thigh, noting the large darker patch quickly spreading across it. It glistened slightly. "You gonna make it back to the SUV?"

He rolled his eyes when I flashed the light up to his face and reefed his shirt over his head to put pressure on the wound. "Gonna have to, aren't I?" He eyed my arm when flicked it over my own wound to inspect it. "Unless you feel like carrying me?"

Despite the situation, I let out a bark of laughter. "Suck it up, Princess," I instructed, but dragged his left arm over my shoulder to help steady him as we started making slow progress back toward the car, three blocks away. With my left hand gripping Cal's wrist to keep it in place and my right around his waist, screaming at me to stop pressing it into the man's hard body, and Cal's right occupied by stemming the flow of blood from his leg, we didn't get a chance to put a call through to Bobby until we were in the SUV and on our way to the hospital.

I drove one handed while Cal used his free hand to put pressure on my wound too, not wanting to get blood _all_ over the interior if we could help it. We knew firsthand how hard it was to get blood out of the creases in the seats.

Thankfully, it didn't take long before we were hobbling into the ER and up to the nurse's desk. She recognised us on sight and had the forms ready for us by the time we reached her, giving us each a sympathetic smile as we hobbled back away. Bobby entered just as Cal dropped into one of the plastic seats, letting out an unmanly hiss. I felt inclined to let out the same sound when I noted what Bobby was wearing. It was a onesie, I recognised that much from yesterday's encounter with Hal, but Bobby's was white with a couple of gray bits on it. He wasn't wearing the hood, thank God, and his feet were stuffed into combat boots that had been hastily laced. He looked tired, but alert. And utterly, fucking, ridiculous.

I didn't even ask about his attire as he approached, just slumped into the chair beside Cal and waited for his medical inspection to commence. He perched on the edge of the seat next to mine, dumping his pack on the floor by his feet and pushing up his sleeves so he could pull on a pair of rubber gloves. When he gestured for me to move my arm into his reach, I did so, thrusting it out toward him.

"Woah," he cried in surprise, scooting back out of range. "Watch it! You're a messy bleeder and this is brand new." He stroked the front of the fuzzy white garment held out his hands once more for me to present my arm.

"If you're so worried about it getting dirty, why did you buy a white one?" I asked, clenching my teeth as he pressed around the bullet hole in my arm.

Pausing in his ministrations, he sent me a peculiar look that I was in no mood to decipher right now and said, "I didn't buy it. It was a gift."

"Steph?" Cal asked him, leaning forward to see the medic's attire around my large frame.

"Yeah," Bobby confirmed, snapping off his rubber gloves and tossing them in a plastic bag he had ready for waste. "I can probably get the bullet out, but they'll do a neater job," he informed me as he pulled on another pair and moved around to inspect Cal. "Plus they'll give you those nice painkillers you like."

Huffing, I leaned back in my seat, resigned to the fact that I couldn't just skip the hospital all together. I'd gladly take Bobby's rough patching over the pompous med staff here any day, but once he'd made up his mind on a medical matter there was no swaying him. The only upside was those painkillers. The ones that actually worked as opposed to those that were readily available to the public.

While Bobby checked over Cal's leg, which took longer than my arm due to the barrier of his pants and the amount of blood that had washed the area, Cal was asking about Bobby's onesie – which he was meticulously keeping out of the range of blood. I'd seen lesser men pass out from a wound half as bad as the one Cal had sustained, but there he was carrying out a perfectly normal conversation. About onesies.

Sigh.

"So what is it supposed to be?" Cal asked pointing to the little circle with a staggered line through it on his chest.

Bobby leaned away from the finger, since it was covered in blood, and replied. "It's Baymax from Big Hero 6."

"What the hell are either of those?" I asked, deciding to participate in the conversation to pass the time even though I had no desire to discuss his precious onesie.

"Big Hero 6 is that Disney movie based on Marvel characters from a couple years ago," Bobby explained easily, peering over the leg. "Steph and I watched it together a few months back. I guess she thought that being a medic I'd find having a onesie of Baymax funny."

"What's a Baymax?" I asked, only slightly impatient.

"He's this balloon robot thing built to be a healthcare companion."

"Right," I muttered.

"You're right," Cal said. "That's pretty humor-OW!"

Bobby grinned and sat back, carefully disposing of his second set of gloves. "Nothing I can do here, boys," he informed us. "You'll just have to wait here to get patched up. I'll see you both tomorrow to decide if you're fit for duty." He stood, skirting around our bloody bodies gingerly and picked up his pack. "I'm going back to bed."

 ** _So I've pretty much written the second last chapter of this story, despite the fact that it's a while away. It's good to know where I'm heading._**


	3. Lester

_I have another nine chapters planned for this story, plus the final chapter that I haven't really fully planned out but know the general idea for. PLUS Plus, I have four other guys that have onesies picked out but no story yet. So there's plenty of onesie madness to go around. It feels a bit weird writing about such warm attire while I'm practically melting in the summer sun, but hey, maybe if I think cold thought the body will follow?_

 **3 – Lester**

I stepped onto the command floor the next day, having been cleared for desk duty but excluded from any kind of physical exertion for the remainder of the week so I didn't pull my stitches. It was fine by me. My arm was aching enough to give me pause in the gym this morning, sticking only to the equipment I could use with either one or no arms. I thought about taking one of the pain pills I'd been prescribed, but knew that they left me groggy and I often needed them when I wasn't sporting a recent injury. It was just one of the costs of living the life I'd lived.

Making my way to my office to get started on the paperwork I would be stuck with for the next few days, my attention was automatically pulled to the large group of men gathered around the monitors station in the middle of the room. There were two causes for a crowd in that general vicinity. The first was that there was a situation going down in full view of Rangeman surveillance cameras, meaning that the men there were quickly discussing a game plan before they split off to deal with it. The second, and far more common, was that something funny or of interest was happening somewhere in the building and the men were gathered around to watch and laugh.

A few whoops split the air, letting me know that in all likelihood, it would be the latter of the options. Which meant I needed to step in and put an end to it. I had no problem with them watching people be idiots in the building, but they would have to save the footage and watch it later. They had a job to do, and standing around gawking wasn't part of it.

"Alright, everyone back to work," I ordered, stepping up to the half wall behind the bank of monitors. "Viewing time's over. Watch it on your own time."

Slowly, the men turned and dragged their feet all the way back to their cubicles or, in the case of a couple, toward the stairwell door, to get on with their work day. I pierced Hank, who was actually scheduled on monitor duty, with a stare to let him know that the incident would be noted. Probably, he was the one who'd summoned them all over. I definitely couldn't picture the new guy next to him being so cocky as to draw the entire office to his side. Then again, some men turned out to be idiots.

"Sorry, sir," Hank muttered, readjusting his chair so that his was facing his task more fully.

"What was it this time?" I asked, just as much out of curiosity as anything else.

"Lester Santos," he informed me.

I should have known. Lester was the cause of disruption ninety-eight percent of the time. "What was he doing?"

Hank glanced at the new guy beside him whose name escaped me at the present moment, then turned back to me. "Woody dared him to do his Nyan Cat impersonation in the fourth floor corridor for an hour straight," Hank explained.

I blink twice. Repeating the man's words in my head as I tried to make sure I'd heard him correctly. "His _what_ cat impersonation?"

"Nyan Cat," Hank repeated.

I shook my head. Still as confused as the first time. "What's that?"

"It's this cat with the body of a pop tart that flies through space leaving a trail of rainbows behind," the new guy said helpfully. "It was uploaded to Youtube in like 2011 with a Japanese pop song as a backing track."

I sent him my _stop talking_ look. It had no effect on Hank who had built up a tolerance to me over the years. Instead, he beckoned me around to his side of the monitor station. "He's still going if you want to see," he offered.

I sighed, but took a look anyway. Sure enough, there was Lester, running up and down the corridor with a rainbow swishing behind him. "He's wearing a onesie," I said flatly. It was the third onesie I'd seen in as many days.

"A Nyan Cat onesie," Hank corrected. "It's the one Steph got him."

I was starting to see a pattern. Three men who would normally be quite sensible, suddenly turning up in juvenile outfits provided by one Stephanie Plum. To be fair, Lester would probably have eventually ended up in the stupid costume of his volition, but there was no accounting for the other two. Was this an indication of what was to come as Steph got more and more settled into the Rangeman family? Chaos and child-like shenanigans. How many others had she given onesies to?

 _ **The answer is thirteen, Tank, but I'll let you find out for yourself.**_


	4. Ram, Binkie, Vince and Junior

_I am writing this author's not two days in advance of posting the chapter. Because I'm that organised. Hopefully the previous chapter was well received. (Fun fact: EVERY time I type received, it has a little squiggly red line under it and I have to tell myself "I before E except after C")_

 **4 – Ram, Vince, Binkie and Junior**

"Hey Tank," Binkie said as I entered the break room in need of a respite from the endless pile of paper that Ranger had dumped on my desk that morning. Binkie was leaning against the counter, sipping from a mug. "Ella left the makings for hot chocolate in honour of the weather," he informed me, tipping said mug in my direction as evidence. "You come to stake your claim on some before the other cotton on?"

I eyes his mug and the basket behind him that was not usually there. "There marshmallows" I questioned.

His lips quirked in a barely contained smile. "You after big or small?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Doesn't matter so long as they're not pink." Shoving him aside, I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and fixed myself a drink, sprinkling in a few mini, white marshmallows when I was done.

"Huh," Binkie uttered, leaning over to peer into the cup. "You know what they say about men who prefer mini marshmallows?"

I didn't move a muscle except to lock my gaze on his face. "You really wanna finish that little piece of trivia?" I asked him, allowing a growl to surface.

His face went slack as he retreated a couple of steps, almost spilling hot chocolate down his uniform in his hast to get away. It was as if he only just realised who he was talking to and what he'd just let slip from his mouth. "What?" he said, his voice cracking on the single syllable. "I was just gonna say that they're real stand up guys! Geez, Tank, I wasn't gonna mention your – Did you really think I'd suggest that you've got a small –" He cut himself off with a hard swallow and seemed to pull himself together. When he spoke again he was much calmer. His face set in the standard Rangeman non-expression. "A few of use are playing poker tonight," he stated, almost robotically. "Vince's apartment. Eight o'clock. You should join us."

*o*

I knocked once on the door to Vince's apartment. It was a little after eight, since I'd been caught up talking to Ranger about a situation that had occurred earlier in the day. The men inside laughed a little louder at something or other and I took that as my invitation to enter. Noting the neat line of combat boots by the entrance – three more pairs than Vince needed – I took a moment to remove my own as well. Vince was rather particular when it came to keeping his space clean, so I assumed no shoes was one of his 'house' rules.

As I rounded the dividing wall that sectioned off the entrance from the rest of the apartment, I took in the sight of the four men I would be playing against this evening. Binkie, Vince, Ram and Junior all sat around the card table. They were dressed identically, which normally would not have mattered to me at all, since we all wear the same uniform day in and day out. But it was not their uniform they were wearing. No each of them wore a green onesie with brown on the back and dirty yellow colour on the front. It looked like they had straps across their chests and belt on. I looked closer and discovered they weren't _quite_ identical. Each of the hoods – which were positioned on their heads – had a different coloured strip across it. Vince's was blue, Binkie's purple, Junior's orange and Ram's red.

It was almost enough to make me turn around, grab my shoes and walk back out.

Almost.

Tamping down on my frustration at the presence of four more childish outfits in the building, I cleared my throat to make my presence known and dragged the last remaining chair over to the table.

"Tank!" Binkie greeted, seeming much more relaxed than when I'd seen him in the break room earlier. "You came!"

I nodded, not bothering to voice a reply.

"Where's your onesie?" Junior questioned, peering at me over his cards.

I felt my eye beginning to twitch and did my best to control the involuntary movement as I replied. "I wasn't aware I was supposed to wear one."

"Huh," Ram muttered. "You wouldn't have fit the theme anyway. We're all Ninja Turtles." He cut his eyes to me as if a thought had just occurred to him. "Unless Steph got you a Splinter onesie?"

They all looked to me hopefully and all I could think was that if they assumed Steph got me one, that meant that she'd gotten everyone else one. Everyone else. Except. Me. I shook my head, no, denying that I'd received a Splinter onesie. They didn't need to know that I hadn't received one at all.

"Just deal me in," I instructed.

 _ **Past me thanks all future yous for reading and hopes you have a wonder day.**_


	5. Woody and Hank

_Somehow, while discussing this chapter with my bestie, we ended up likening Rangeman to a family: Tank, the mother, is attempting to raise an unruly brood of grown men. Ranger is the absentee father, capable of putting the fear of life into the children with a single mention ("Just wait til your father gets home!") Ella is the nanny. And Steph is the fun babysitter ... who is also sleeping with the father... Tank and Ranger's Marriage is clearly on the rocks. Anyway... enough with the craziness. Onto the chapter..._

 **5 – Woody & Hank**

A couple hours later, we were close to wrapping things up for the night when there was a commotion out in the hall. My hand was immediately on my gun, removing it from it's holster as I stood. A glance around at the others showed they had done the same, thought I had no idea where they'd been keeping their side arms, what with the onesies. Were they even wearing anything under there? I shook my head to clear the unhelpful thoughts as I lead the way to the door.

Ram, Binkie, Vince and Junior were all on my heels as I peered through the peep hole, waiting for instructions. A black clad figure raced past the door and at the last second, a blur of red.

"Well?" Ram asked impatiently.

I held up a finger in the universal signal for them to wait. A moment later the figure raced past again, followed by the brief glimpse of red. I still couldn't quite figure out what was going on - was someone on fire? – when a half laughed shout penetrated the apartment.

"Wings, Woody! Use your wings!"

Shoving my gun back into it's holster, lest I _accidentally_ use it to put an end to whatever stupidity was occurring out in the hall this time, I opened the door and stepped out. I was just about to ask what was going on when Woody ran past again, almost colliding with me.

"Get out of the flight path, Tank!" Lester called. I should have known he'd be involved. He was always the instigator. I glared at him down the hall, unable to stop myself from thinking about how it was really Steph who was at fault here. If she hadn't given all these hardened, serious men childish clothes I wouldn't be subjected to this circus right now. "He can't stop," Lester added, gaining my attention more fully. "If he stops his time starts over."

"Time for what?" Vince asked, sticking his head out the doorway behind me.

"His hour of running the halls impersonating Toothless," Lester said proudly. "I dared him."

I almost didn't stop the groan that left my lips as Woody ran past again. He managed to avoid me this time, but I caught the edge of a mink wing to the face as it flapped out behind him. I recognised what his onesie was meant to represent now: Toothless the dragon from _How to Train Your Dragon_. What the fuck was Steph doing to this company?

"I thought _Woody_ dared _you_ ," Cal pointed out from two doors down where he was sitting cross legged on the threshold with a bowl of popcorn.

Lester grinned from ear to ear, clearly proud of himself. "It was a Double Dog Dare," he explained. "I dared Woody first, but he Double Dogged me, so I had to man up and show him how it's done."

I was just thinking how ridiculous it was for a group of grown men to dress and act like four year olds when things got worse. Out of nowhere, a man in a yellow and blue onesie came running up behind Woody and tackled him to the ground. They both rolled on impact to avoid injury.

"What the hell, Hank?" Woody said, pushing the man off him and sitting up.

Hank had a smug smile on his face as he scrambled to an upright position and gave Woody a hand up. "First of all," he said. "I'm _Woody._ " This was said with a pointed gesture to his attire and an expectant look around. I had no idea what he was talking about, but knowing that I was more out of touch than the others, I glanced around the assembled faces. Most were blank. Hank sighed. "From Toy Story? Anyone? Come on! It's a classic!"

Woody shook his head. He wasn't the only one. "All I wanna know is why you tackled me."

"I was trying to mount you, actually," he shrugged.

"Why?"

Hank's shoulders slumped like he was disappointed with the whole lot of us. If only he knew how _I_ felt about the situation. "Toothless flies better with a rider, what with his slight lack of tail and all. I was helping you out."

I rolled my eyes and decided I needed to leave before I ended up like them. I retrieved my shoes to the sound of shouts and hoots. As I made my way down the hall to the elevator Lester's voice rose above the rest. "Yes!" he cried. "You have to do it! You can't do an accurate Toothless flying impersonation without a rider! One hour! Running the corridor! Piggy backing Hank!"

The assembled men cheered.

"I'm _Woody_ ," Hank corrected when it quieted again.

" _He's_ Woody, not you," someone else said. "You can't both be Woody."

"We're not," Hank said. "Woody is toothless."

Binkie's confused voice drifted to my ears. "So Hank is Woody and Woody is Toothless?"

I barely resisted the urge to lean my head against the wall. The elevator couldn't come quick enough.

 _ **Still giggling over my evil plans for the rest of the story. Still hoping you're enjoying it.**_


	6. Cal

_Cal's onesie reveal was my bestie's idea, though it took her two tries to explain it. The first time she was tired and not making much sense. The second time was a lot clearer, but still lead to a confused clarification of what Cal actually does when he's cleaning, which I decided to put into the chapter._

 **6 – Cal**

I sat slumped in the chair, staring at a bank of screens and reminding myself that there were worst things than covering the monitors. For example, I _could_ be in my office dealing with payroll. It wasn't my usual task, but Ranger was down in Miami fixing some _'staffing issue'_ , which usually meant he was either beating or firing asses. I'm sure Diana, the manager down there, could handle either situation herself, so the circumstances must have been extenuating. I'll hopefully hear all about it when he gets back. Point was, I was covering monitors for Cal, who was suffering a migraine this morning and couldn't grace us with his presence. Purely so I could avoid math.

While my eyes focused on the task at hand, I cast my ears around, Listening for any conversations of interest. It was habit. I knew some of the guys thought I just zoned out on occasions like this, but it was the complete opposite. I could listen to two conversations at once while watching something entirely unrelated.

I'd just zeroed in on a story Lester was telling about how he'd supposedly disabled a target with nothing more than a tin of pineapple juice and a foot of duct tape, when the elevator doors pinged open admitting one Stephanie Plum onto the floor. I glanced over to be sure she was uninjured before refocusing on the screens.

In the cubicle across the way, Hal jumped to his feet, hurrying over to the woman. He appeared excited to see her, bounding around like a puppy as he began telling a story. Steph's face lit up like a Christmas tree. I made sure to tune them out and reminded myself to watch the monitors. I wasn't interested in what made Steph happy at the moment. She may be my best friend's fiancé and we acted like friends, but I couldn't get the fact that she'd bought all the other Rangemen kigurumis out of my head. It was stupid. I didn't even _like_ the damned thins. But I found myself fighting back jealousy whenever I thought about it.

Gritting my teeth with the effort of ignoring Steph and Hal's conversation hen I would normally have my ears open listening for key words, I stared almost blankly at the screen, vaguely aware of Junior's presence beside me. Hopefully he had the good sense to scan the whole bank from time to time, because I wasn't seeing much. All my stoic ignorance went out the window, though, when Hal pulled a wand of light from somewhere on his person, passing it over his arm.

With the light, an intricate picture of a dinosaur was revealed. It must have been a black light, I realised, but – "Where the hell did you get a black light?" I asked, all but abandoning the monitors.

Hal's shoulders jerked, startled. He'd been too engrossed in what he was doing. Not paying attention to his surroundings. Serves him right. "Oh," he managed to say casually enough. "It's Cal's, actually."

My curiously, unfortunately, was not satisfied with that answer and I found myself questioning him further. "What does Cal need with a black light?"

He let out a small laugh. "He does this thing with his skeleton." The statement was accompanied by a sway-like motion, though I wasn't sure what it was supposed to mean.

"His skull tattoo you mean?" I clarified, even though somewhere in the back of my mind I had suspicions that this had to do with what everything else had been about in the last few days.

"What?" Hall said. "No, no. He's got this skeleton-."

"Onesie," I interrupted to finish for him. I made sure not to look at Steph when I said it, but my peripheral vision picked up on the odd glance she sent my way.

"He wears his onesie?" she asked sounding pleased.

Hal nodded. "While cleaning in the dark, apparently."

 _What the fuck?_ I thought. "What?" I asked.

Another shrug from the least hardened member of the Rangeman team. "I don't know," he said. "All I know is he does this thing with his skeleton and he discovered it while he was using his black light to clean in the dark."

"Uses his black light to -," I cut myself off with a shake of the head. This wasn't making sense. And the fact that it was about onesies had me clenching my fists. I wish they'd all just take their onesies and shoe them up their asses. But I couldn't just come out and say it without letting them in on my true feelings. Ain't no way that was going to happen. "How does that even work?" I asked.

"The guy is meticulous about keeping his kitchen clean ever since that time he got food poisoning," Hal pointed out.

It still didn't make sense. "So he cleans in the dark?"

Hal gave me a look, like he couldn't believe I was pursuing the topic so persistently. "I guess…?"

Steph looked between us a moment, clearly unsure of whether to jump back into the conversation or run clear in the opposite direction. I honestly wouldn't have minded if she did run. After an ever so slight eye roll she suggested, "Maye he cleans with the light on and the checks it in the dark with the black light?"

I flicked my eyes to her briefly, not willing to respond to her.

"That makes more sense," Hal nodded. "Anyway, turns out his skeleton onesie glows under the black light. He does this dance. It's hilarious. You should get him to show you!"

I'd heard enough. If I stayed any longer I'd probably end up snapping and doing something I'd regret. Standing from my chair, I grabbed the first person to walk past and shoved them into it. I didn't care who it was. If they had eyes they could watch the monitors. "I've gotta go get started on the payroll," I mentioned, by way of explanation to all three of them, and stalked off to my office. _Fucking onesies,_ I thought, slamming the door shut behind me. Fucking Stephanie. _Fucking idiots the lot of them._

 ** _Up next is Hector. I'm really excited for his chapter. His reveal is probably my favourite._**


	7. Hector

_I'm writing this on Thursday with no intentions to post it until Saturday morning (Australian Eastern Standard Time). I love how easy these chapters are to write and that I'm so far ahead of where I'm up to in posting that I can post every morning without fail. At this stage, I'm hoping to get at least one more chapter written before the weekend (super easy, I know) since I won't have time to write over the weekend itself. I'm going away for a choir retreat._

 **7 – Hector**

The next day I was working through a file of long running FTAs that still needed to be captured. I reached for the stack of post-its I kept on the corner of my desk beside the pen cup, but there weren't any there. That was odd. I could have sworn I'd put a new stack pad there just yesterday. Whatever, I'd just grab a pack from the desk drawer… Where there was also none left. A growl left my throat. I was in no mood for this.

Shoving my chair back from the desk, I stomped out of my office and down the hall, heading for the stationery supply cupboard. As I past the main floor, I paused, sending a blanket glare across all the cubicles even though I knew that at least half of them were empty and the other half couldn't see me anyway.

"Whoever took all the post-its from my office can meet me on the mats at oh six hundred tomorrow," I called across the room. I didn't bother taking the time to see if anyone responded, though, instead continuing on my way. A sparring session would probably do me good. I didn't even care that I'd been told to avoid putting too much strain on my arm until the stitches were out. I needed to beat someone or something to a pulp before I started separating heads from bodies instead.

I was muttering to myself about insubordination and the likelihood of me keeping my job if I killed the post-it thief as I reached the cupboard. It was in a secluded corner of the command centre, cut from view of the main floor by a large whiteboard that we occasionally used for figuring out complex relations between significant people and events. I never saw anyone stocking the shelves, but they were always full. Then again, it was the same with the fridge in the break room.

I sighed, pulling open the door already in the process of reaching for where I knew the post-its would be when a grey clad figure burst out of the cupboard, tackling me to the ground. I vaguely registered his yell of, " _Ataque de Tiburón!"_ as my head hid the not-as-soft-as-it-could-have-been carpet. It took me a moment to translate the exclaimed words from Spanish to English – _Shark Attack!_ – by which time I'd managed to roll us both over, gaining the upper hand. I had one of the mink covered arms twisted up behind his mink covered back when he started laughing.

It was a laugh I recognised, because it was so distinctive, but it was not one I heard often.

"Hector?" I growled, twisting up a little further.

" _Sí,_ " he chuckled.

And just like that, it dawned on me that this had been a set up. One of the most intimidating members of Rangeman, Hector wasn't usually one to fool around. He tended to prefer cutting first and asking questions later while you were bleeding out on the floor. No one would dare cross him even for an office prank. Apparently, Hector didn't harbour the same qualms toward the rest of us.

I shoved him into the carpet before getting to my feet and stepping back. He didn't move right away, probably expecting me further retaliate for the surprise attack, but I didn't. Instead, I stared down at the padded grey triangle that jutted from the middle of his back. Another onesie. And even without seeing the rest of it, I deduced that it was a shark onesie. Why else would he have yelled shark attack as he burst from the cupboard?

Slowly, Hector got to his feet, readjusting the hood around his face. The entire head opening was lined with white triangles to represent teeth. It looked ridiculous on him. This many was a known killer, barely tamed enough to work within the system instead of against it, and some woman that wasn't even his own girlfriend had him dressing like a kid on Halloween. The only thing the costume had going for it was that Hector's personality was not unlike a shark.

"I got the best of you," Hector announced in heavily accented English. A lot of the men thought he didn't understand English at all, or that if he could understand, he wasn't able to speak it. They were wrong. Hector just preferred Spanish and knew that if he was stubborn enough to only speak Spanish in front of people they'd bow to his will.

"You stole my post-its," I accused. "Just so you could jump at me from a closet?"

His grin widened. " _Sí."_

The sooner Bobby released me for active duty the better, because staying in the building all the time was going to cause someone a great deal of harm. And I wasn't entirely sure it would someone else who ended up injured. At this point I was inclined to believe I'd go insane before Ranger got back from Miami. I needed some relief from this nut house, especially if the more serious men were cutting in on the antics now.

I stared at Hector for a long minute, wondering if I'd be capable of disabling him before he managed to draw his knife, but eventually just shook my head to dispel the idea. Hector's reflexes were second to none. And if he had enough reason, he could go into a stealth mode so exact that he was practically invisible. There were stories in small villages in the Middle East about demons that come in the night to kill evil men that were based on the one and only government contract Ranger had sent him on. He'd had to fight long and hard to convince them that Hector – the former gang member with absolutely no ties to the military and no reason to follow orders given by the government – was the man for the job. They were eating their words by the time he returned state side two weeks ahead of schedule. They were scared of what he'd been capable of doing. From what I'd heard he was now being strictly monitored by the powers that be.

"Get that thing off and get back to work," I commanded, rather than attempt any kind of physical retaliation. "This is a work place, not a haunted house." I grabbed the post-its I needed and started walking away before I'd even finished speaking. Not so fast, though, that I didn't see Hector remove the onesie then and there and start following me back toward the main floor in nothing but his combat boots and boxers.

Somebody kill me now.

 ** _There are seven chapters left in the story. Plus a bonus that I may be persuaded to add at the end if you're all exceptionally nice. Which you usually are._**


	8. Rodriguez

_I wrote this entire chapter in the time it took me to eat a ham and pineapple open melt from the Coffee Club at lunch time Friday. I also managed to write half of the next chapter in that same sitting._

 **8 – Rodrieguez**

Three glorious days passed without a single onesie incident. Possibly because I was locked in back to back client meetings the entire time. I wasn't built for a desk job, which was why Rangeman suited me so well. I got to regularly troll the streets looking for a fist fight. But with Ranger away, all his boring boss duties fell to me, on top of my regular office tasks. The two added up to so much desk time that even though Bobby removed my stitches and cleared me for active duty, I couldn't see myself leaving the office until Ranger got his ass back to Trenton.

I was utterly exhausted. Felt like I'd run three marathons and single-handedly fought off an army. And all I'd been doing was sitting in a god-damned chair. All. Fucking. Day. I needed a holiday, but first, I needed to sleep for at least ten hours so I'd be rested enough to enjoy a holiday.

As I was preparing to leave the office at eighteen hundred hours to finally head home to my cats, I received a phone call from a rather high maintenance account holder insisting I have a full report on the security of both his private property and each of the three antique stores he owned in the Trenton area. By oh six hundred.

So I did.

It took four hours. And just as I was saving for the final time, my computer crashed, and I couldn't bring it back to life. Go figure. I'd called down to the tech lab, hoping that either Hank or Hector was either staying late or on night shift. No such luck. So I tried their cells. Nada.

That's how I found myself on the fourth floor, watching as Rodrieguez crawled slowly down the hall in what appeared to be a turtle onesie. Not a mutant ninja turtle like Ram, Vince, Binkie and Junior. Just a regular turtle. I stared for a moment, but decided with a firm shake of my head that I really didn't want to know. Leaving him to his slow progress, I strode down the hall to Hector's apartment. I knocked three times with no response before repeating the process at Hanks. The results were the same.

Rodriguez had travelled about two yards in the time I'd been occupied and was now staring at me with slightly glazed eyes.

"Are you drunk?" I asked. I don't know why, but I had to find an explanation for his current turtle state.

He blinked once, then looked down at his onesie-clad self. "I'm… a… t-."

"Turtle," I finished for him. _Why was he talking so slow?_ I had a deadline to keep and I needed to sleep. I didn't have time for this shit. "I can see that." I assured him. "Do you know where Hank or Hector are?"

"Nooooo," Rodriguez bemoaned, and, silly-fucking-me, I thought he was answering my question. But as I went to walk away, he added. "I'm a Toooooorrrrrrtooooiiiiissseeeee."

"Whatever," I said, just short of snapping. "Same diff. Have you seen Hank or -."

"I'm a tortoise," he insisted. "I have legs." He nodded toward his arms as evidence. "Turtles don't have legs."

I sighed. Trust Rodriguez to get technical. "If you have legs, why aren't you using them?" I asked. _God, why was I letting myself get drawn into this?_

"I AM!" he replied indignantly, crawling forward another foot. "See?"

Running a hand over my face, I decided to change tactics. "Where's the party?" I asked. Perhaps I'd find the tech guys there. Or perhaps a more sober person who could point me in the right direction.

Rodriguez stared for a long moment. I thought he might be thinking, but at that moment a cheer carried down the hall and I abandoned the fruitless conversation, following the noise to Zip's apartment door.

 _ **Happy Sunday, y'all. I made sure I had chapters ready to post this weekend because I'm actually away on my annual choir retreat. Also, I figure if I continue the post-every-morning routine I have at the moment the story will be finished by next weekend. GASP!**_


	9. Zip

_Just to clarify a thing or two about Rodriguez's onesie. I'm aware that a few of you thought a faster animal would be a better match for him since he's always snicking new files into Steph's tray without being spotted. But the theory my bestie and I came up with was that Steph would have given him a tortoise as a hint to slow down. Or out of irony's sake._

 **9 – Zip**

"Come on!" I heard as I pushed open the door which had been ajar. "Show us your kigurumi!"

The room was packed with men. There didn't even look to be enough room to slip through the crowd. If I'd had to watch them all trail out of this apartment I probably would have likened it to that clown car trick. I immediately began scanning faces and, to my complete and utter dismay, onesies. If I could spot a cowboy or a shark in there I'd known I'd found who I was looking for.

"Zip!" someone growled. "We're all wearing ours!" And they were. There wasn't a single soul who wasn't in a onesie. I might have gotten angry if I didn't need to find someone with enough computer skills to fix my computer and retrieve my report by oh six hundred. "Go put yours on!"

Zip must have refused as I was pushing my way into the throng of muscular men because outraged shouts arose and one person called out. "At least tell us what it is!"

For several brief seconds there was silence. I couldn't see where Zip was from my position between Junior's beer bottle and Vince's empty shot glass, but he must have been retrieving said onesie to show the rest of them, because in the next second, just as I was attempting to scoot between Woody and Binkie, a collective cheer of "Elmo!" deafened me.

Distracted, I looked to the left, spotting a fluffy red garment being held up by the shoulders. It did indeed appear to be Elmo.

"Maybe it's a Tickle Me Elmo!" someone gasped. It sounded like Lester. More specifically, drunk Lester. "Put it on and let's find out!" Yep, definitely Lester.

"I'm not ticklish," Zip informed them all. He sounded a lot less drunk than everyone else, probably because he was reluctant to get in his kigurumi and was afraid what would happen if he let himself become inebriate.

Lester spoke up again. "Well, not now, but maybe the kiga- keegoo… onesie has the power to make you ticklish!"

"Put it on!" someone shouted.

"Yeah!" everyone cheered, followed by a chant that was the exact opposite of the time we'd invited Stephanie to strip poker night. "Put it on! Put it on!"

I rolled my eyes, scanning the room again. "Has anyone seen Hank or Hector?" I asked. But no one heard me over the sound of their continuing chant.

"WAIT!" Bobby's voice yelled above the din. The silence was near immediate. _Why didn't I think of that?_ "WE NEED TO CONDUCT THIS EXPERIMENT PROPERLY!" The crowd just stared. "We need to set a control first," he continued, seeing that he had their attention. "Confirm that he really isn't ticklish without the kigurumi. Otherwise, the experiment means nothing."

"What do we do?" a voice from the back asked.

Bobby climbed up on a chair. Again, why hadn't I thought of that? I couldn't see a think from my vantage point. "First," he announced. "We tickle him without the Elmo suit. Then, we put it on him and try again."

I shook my head, wondering when this idiocy started and how I'd managed to stay oblivious to it until now. They never used to act this way. The fourth floor used to be a quiet, serious place. A Zen Zone. But now? They were acting like teenaged girls at a sleepover.

I was shoving my way back through the crowd, having satisfied myself that neither technology guru was at the party, when a hand reach out between the bodies and gripped my wrist.

"Shark bait oo-ha-ha," I heard in my ear. The voice was heavily accented. Hector.

Spinning around, I managed to knock over no less than three men before I faced Hector. I realised, in such close quarters, just how short he really was and wondered how he'd managed to get his voice right up by my ear, but the thought was pushed aside by the relief that flooded through me. "Hector" I said, letting a lot more of the relief I felt into my voice than I'd intended.

"The tortoise said you were looking for me," he said, grinning.

 _ **One day, I'll tell you all a tale about a sentient meatloaf.**_


	10. Ranger

_Here it is. The chapter you've been waiting for! Ranger's onesie!_

 **10 – Ranger**

I ended up sleeping in the spare apartment on the fourth floor after the computer fiasco. Going home just didn't seem worth it, since it was already after one in the morning by the time I was confident we'd retrieved all the data that was lost. My cats would have enough kitty kibble to last them at least until after the client meeting, then I could duck home and make sure they were all fed. For now, though, I had more immediate problems.

When meeting with clients, Ranger preferred we dressed in traditional business attire. I had a client meeting in fifteen minutes, which wasn't enough time to duck home for a suit. None of the guys were anywhere near my size, so I couldn't just borrow, and there was no way I was meeting such an uptight client in my street clothes.

I stared for an agonisingly long moment at the cargoes and tee I'd worn the previous day and was just about to bite the bullet and get it over with when I remembered Ella. I shoved my various limbs into the clothes with little care, leaving my utility belt on the bedside table and took the stairs up two floors to Ella's domain.

She was just disappearing into the laundry room adjacent to her apartment with an empty basket when I pushed through the stairwell door. I followed, catching up to her as she was opening one of the many front loader washing machines that lined the wall.

"Tank," she greeted, looking up as she began pulling items from within the machine. "It's not often I see your face around here. How can I help you?"

"I was wondering if you had any spare business clothes for me," I said, staring at what she was doing. All the clothes she was pulling out were black. But they came out in dribs and drabs, plopping easily into the basket below the opening. But then she started dragging out a cloth with a different texture. And it just kept coming. Then I saw the unmistakable yellow emblem and I knew immediately what I was looking at. Just to be sure, though, I had to ask. "What's that?"

Ella looked up as the loose end fell from the machine opening into the basket, still holding the other. "Oh this?" she asked, looking down at it. "It's the Batman Kigurumi Stephanie got for Ranger. She got one for all the men for Christmas."

I clenched my jaw to tamp down the urge to growl. This wasn't Ella's fault. She wasn't to know how wrong her statement was. How it cut me straight to the core. This was Stephanie's doing. Ella was innocent here. I had to remember that.

"I thought it was a great idea when she came to me asking for all the men's sizes," she continued. "I honestly didn't think half of them would wear them, but I've washed each of them at least once. Even Rangers. That was a surprise."

Glancing at my watch, I noted that I had less than ten minutes before Mr. Demanding would be here. I couldn't stand here listening to Ella gush over how Steph had enabled the men's current immaturity streak. I had things to do. "The suit?" I prompted. "Do you have something for me?"

"Oh, right," Ella said, nodding and dropping the blasted onesie into basket. "I think I have a couple of shirts and pants for you put away," she confirmed, leaving the clothes where they were and leading the way toward the other end of the laundry room. I'd never been this far into her lair. It was unnecessary. Whenever I needed replacement uniforms they just appeared in my office. I had no idea how she always knew, since I was one of the few men that did my own washing – a necessity that came with living offsite – but they were always there when I needed. The backroom of the laundry was like a really swish locker room. Wardrobes stood in four long lines, creating two corridors between them. Each wardrobe was labelled with the name of a Rangeman employee.

She moved to the first row and started down, stopping at the third wardrobe – the one with my name on the front - and pulling it open. Inside was a series of shelves stacked with black cargoes and shirts, drawers that probably contained socks and boxers and beside it all a hanging section. Even from the first glance, I could tell that they were my size. "I try to keep spares on hand in case there's an emergency," she explained, extracting two coat hangers and holding them out to me before flipping out the bottom section of the wardrobe to reveal a row of shoes. Boots, sneakers, dress shoes, even a pair of flip flops. All black. "Do you need a jacket?" she asked, handing me the shiniest pair of shoes I'd ever seen in my size. "It's cold out."

I shook my head. "I'm not leaving the building," I assured her. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," she assured me. "If you like there's a change room just at the end of the aisle," she informed me, pointing further down the line of the closets. "Just leave your clothes there and I'll have the washed for you."

I nodded, striding away from her. Normally I would have said something like, "You're the best," because she really was, but with the new information I had about her involvement in the onesie shenanigans, I couldn't make the words come out of my mouth, so I just walked away. I didn't have time to concern myself with her actions right now.

 _ **Have I mentioned that this is pretty much the only story where I've known exactly what would happen in the entire thing straight from the get go? Like, oh my gosh, my muse did with the details on this one.**_


	11. Steph

_I wrote this chapter instead of going to bed at a decent hour on Sunday night. Probably because I wasn't tired, since I had a three hour nap that afternoon when I got home from choir retreat._

 **11 – Steph**

I'd left work early on account of the fact that it was Saturday and I'd spent far too much time in the building lately. I needed an evening completely free of the stress of responsibility and the frustration of encountering onesie clad men every time I turned around. My cats had been acting out lately, clearly not appreciating my longer hours. This morning when I'd come home to make sure they didn't starve to death, they'd already sorted the situation out themselves, having somehow managed to get the container of kibble open and spilled it all over the floor.

The moment I walked in the door this afternoon Ambrose, was climbing up my body to perch on my shoulder as was his preference. I went about preparing and eating a sandwich, putting on a load of washing and cleaning out the four little trays around the house, all with the Scottish Fold Munchkin on my shoulder. I'd devoured a large steak with backed potato and vege and was sprawled on the bed surrounded by my purring babies, slowly drifting off when my cell rang.

Dislodging my blanket of cats, I sat up, snatching the device up and growling when I noted Stephanie's name on the screen. What the hell did she want now?

"Speak," I stated, teeth clenched in an unsuccessful attempt to disguise my current feelings toward her. I would rather take another bullet than speak to her right now, knowing that she'd gone and bought a kigurumi for every single one of the men that she interacted with at Rangeman. Even Rodriguez whom she never actually saw, but had a kind of rapport with since she was always leaving notes in her in tray for him to slow down on the search requests and his replies were always in the form of an extra tall stack of files with a witty note of reply. She'd made sure they all fit properly by getting the sizes from Ella. She'd matched most onesies to the men's personalities. Hell, she'd even gotten Hector to play around a little, and that was something no one had ever succeeded at before.

"Tank," she breathed, sounding a little stressed. _Served her right_. "I- I hope I'm not interrupting, but I-." She paused to take an uneven breath, and I could have sworn I heard sirens in the background. "My apartment building is on fire. Again. And the parking lot is full to bursting with emergency vehicles. I was wondering if you could maybe come give me a lift back to Rangeman?"

I barely managed to suppress a sigh, but I'm pretty sure the muttered words I couldn't contain carried clearly down the line. "Why me?"

"Because Ranger has drilled it into me that when he's away I have to call you if I have a problem," she replied, even though the question wasn't directed at her. "Unless it's a medical emergency, then I have to call Bobby. And I only call Lester as a last resort."

I nodded. That sounded pretty standard as far as Ranger's instructions go. As it was, all employees were expected to respond to Steph's distress calls as a top priority. Even above sleep. "I'll be there in twenty," I informed her, even though every particle in my body wanted to call the control room and have one of them deal with it. Not bothering to wait for her response, I hung up, pulled on my old Army sweats over the t-shirt and boxers I'd been wearing and trudged down stairs, shoving my feet into the sneakers I'd dumped by the front door, but not bothering to tie them up. I was just driving her to Rangeman and coming straight back, I reasoned.

When I pulled up on the street, the carpark was still full of fire trucks and ambulances. Old people were standing around in huddles, blankets draped around their shoulders and steaming Styrofoam cups clutched between their hands. Police were wandering from group to group taking statements and paramedics were checking that none of them were going to keel over. I spotted Steph easily. Apart from the emergency service officers, she was the youngest one there. That, and she was wearing a white and brown onesie with the hood up and held a large rectangular blanket bundle in her arms. I flashed the headlights to gain her attention and she hurried straight over, opening the back door to deposit the object on the bench seat, making sure to strap it in with a seat belt before climb in the front beside me.

I wasted no time pulling back out onto the road, eager to get out of her presence so I didn't do something I'd regret. Like interrogate her. Or strangle her. I could barely stand to look at her in her cute little hamster outfit. She looked just like Rex. I supposed that was deliberate.

"Shit," she uttered, staring over at me as I stopped the car at the first lights. "You weren't working, were you? I'm so sorry. If I'd known I would have called control. Hell, you should have just told me to bugger off and get someone else to do it! Please tell me I didn't wake you!"

I stared straight ahead, waiting for the lights to change. I didn't trust myself to speak without growling at her.

"Sorry," she said when I didn't reply. "I didn't know. I just assumed you were – I mean, you're _always_ working." She kept rambling for a while until I lost control of my reflexes and let out a mini growl at the same time I glanced over at her. I assume my expression was bordering on murderous, because she shut right up. Usually the only way to get her to stop talking was to shove food at her.

The rest of the ride to Rangeman was blissfully silent, but I was tense the entire time, a rubber band wound too tight over the last week and ready to snap at the slightest provocation. I needed to get her out of my presence before I exploded all over her. I may not be her biggest fan right now, since she was being an excluding bitch to me, but she was still my boss and best friend's fiancé and if I stepped even a toe out of line in terms of this woman he'd have my balls in a heartbeat.

I was breathing slowly through my nose, trying to stay calm when I finally pulled into the parking garage. I stopped in one of Ranger's empty spaces, close to the elevators and left the engine running while I watched an ant crawl across the brass plate on the wall and waited for her to get out.

Stephanie didn't move. She was staring at me, I knew. I could feel her eyes on me, burning holes in my head. She'd noticed my mood, no doubt, and now she was going to attempt to get me to hash it out with her. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked. "I already apologised profusely for waking you up and dragging you out in the cold. What's wrong?"

I didn't say anything.

"You've been like this for days," she said slowly. "You barely spared me a glance when we were talking to Hal the other day. Is it something I've done? Why won't you talk to me?"

And just like that, I lost control. It must have been scary as fuck for her, since I'd always maintained my cool around her in the past, but there was no way I could hold it back any longer. It wasn't healthy to keep all the frustration and anger bottled up inside. "Just leave me alone!" I yelled at her, even though we were both still in the car, so she was mere feet from me within the enclosed space. "I obviously don't mean anything to you, so why keep pretending I rate high enough in your eyes to even hold a conversation?"

Slowly, as if I was watching a frame by frame play back, I watched her face fall, her heart crack, her eyes moisten and I suddenly realised what I was doing. As the first fat tear rolled down her cheek, I turned the engine off, snatching the keys from the ignition and slid fluidly from the vehicle, stomping away with more power than I could possibly contain at this point. I had to put as much distance between myself and Stephanie so that I didn't add to my already major fuck up by spilling my true feelings. I had to get away. I had to calm the fuck down and put things in perspective. I had to harden the fuck up. But first I had to get Zero started, examining security footage and the communications of Steph's known enemies and current FTAs to be sure this fire wasn't something more.

I punched a wall as I passed through the halls that lead to his basement hovel. I hated that I could be so angry at the woman but still feel the need to protect her. She'd manipulated me into feeling protective of her, lured me in with this false friendship. And now here I was with the cold hard evidence that I was _not_ indeed her friend at all.

 _ **Tensions are high but we're so close to the end now! Just two more chapters. Plus that bonus I hinted at earlier.**_


	12. Zero

_The telephone conversation that occurs in this chapter has been written since the day I posted the first chapter of this story. It's the reason I've been working so consistently to post every day. I just REALLY wanted to get to this point!_

 **12 – Zero**

I opened the door to the communications surveillance centre, took one step inside and stopped dead in my tracks. Zero sat at the desk just like always – I was unsure if he ever left – except he wasn't wearing the usual Rangeman uniform. Instead, he was wearing a single item of clothing that I recognised at once as a sloth onesie. Between the long claws at the end of the sleeves and the face embroidered on the hood it was unmistakeable. The growl that had been rumbling in my chest since leaving Steph in the garage burst forth and Zero slowly lifted his head to stare at me, blinking at the speed of molasses.

"Steph's apartment caught fire," I seethed, waiting for him to blink once more as a sign that he understood my unspoken instructions, before stepping back out into the hall and slamming the door shut. I needed to do something before I went on a murder spree.

*o*

My knuckles were bleeding an hour later, and the punching bag wasn't fairing much better when my cell phone rang in the pocket of my sweats. I took the time to wrap a towel around my left hand before using my right to retrieve the ringing phone and answer it. I knew instinctively who it was even without checking the display.

"What?" I demanded.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Ranger's voice was low and menacing when he spoke, which would have given me pause any other time, but I wasn't in the mood for his intimidation tactics. If Steph had a problem with me, I had no doubt Ranger knew about it, and as his second in command, and his best friend, I feel he should have at least given me a heads up on the matter so I wasn't making myself look like an idiot every time I spoke to her.

I decided not to reply, waiting to see if I could spur him into using his full quota of words for the day on me. I knew he was capable of talking much more than he usually did. And since it was his fiancé that was at fault here, I wanted to hear his side of things.

"Oh, you're not going to talk?" he asked, sarcasm and loathing tinging his tone. "Fine. I will. I just received a call from my fiancé. Know what she said?"

Again, I said nothing, instead crossing to the bench at the side of the room where and sitting my ass down. This conversation, if you could call it that, was going to take a while.

"Neither do I," Ranger continued, like I'd kept up my side of this exchange. "Because she was crying so hard she couldn't get any words out. So I start assuming the worst, obviously. She's injured, right? So I'm asking her if she's hurt, where she's hurt, who she hurt, anything to get some kind of response from her. Wanna know what she eventually managed to utter?"

I didn't, really, but I knew he was going to tell me anyway, so I just stayed silent, glaring at the floor.

Ranger let out a breath. "Man, I really thought you'd know that one," he said sarcastically, which let me know more than his earlier menacing tone exactly how angry he was. A lesser man would shit his pants if Ranger was ever sarcastic with them in a situation like this. After half a life time of enduring his outbursts, I was immune. "Especially since it was _your name."_

There was no surprise there. She'd been upset when I stormed away. And now I was listening to a major Ranger rant, so clearly it was my fault. I didn't need to add my comments at this point, so I maintained my silence. Probably, I was pushing my luck, but I really didn't care at this point.

"So then my mind is working a different tangent," Ranger continued. "Thinking something happened to you. Like maybe you were dead or something, but surely someone would have notified me if my 2IC was dead, right? So I'm back to questioning Stephanie. _What about Tank?_ I asked her. _Is he alright?"_

I flexed the fingers of my left hand, noting where the twinges were and realising I should probably get some ice on it before too much time passed.

"Well are you?" Ranger demanded.

Silence was all I gave him.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said quietly, and I was expecting the threat that left his lips next. "But don't worry, I'll have that mended within the hour." What I wasn't expecting was the full on yelling that he finished off with. Ranger rarely lost his cool so much that raised his voice. " _WHAT THE FUCK POSSESSED YOU TO YELL AT STEPHANIE LIKE THAT?!" he bellowed down the line. "HER APARTMENT WAS ON FIRE! SHE BARELY MANAGED TO GET HERSELF AND HER HAMSTER OUT WITHOUT GETTING BURNED! AND YOU DECIDE THAT SHE'S NOT TREATING YOU LIKE A FRIEND ANYMORE?"_

That was the last straw. I couldn't sit back and let him berate me anymore. He needed to see both sides of the coin. "What did you get from Stephanie for Christmas?" I asked him quietly.

There was a short pause during which I thought Ranger wasn't going to respond, but eventually he uttered just one word. "What?"

"Answer the question," I instructed.

"Pfff." The sound was so unlike Ranger, so hesitant that I knew what he was going to say before he said it. He didn't want to admit to owning one. "A Batman onesie," he said. "Why?"

"Wanna know what Bobby got from her?" I asked, rather than answer his question. "A onesie. Lester? A onesie. Hal? A onesie. Hector? Onesie. Ram, Vince, Binkie, Junior? Matching. Fucking. Onesies."

"What the hell do Steph's Christmas presents have to do with anything?" Ranger interrupted before I could get on any more of a roll.

I was so glad he asked. "Wanna know what _I_ got from your fiancé for Christmas?"

"A onesie?" he guessed.

"Nothing."

Ranger groaned, a low, drawn out sound that crackled over the line. "You're an idiot," he informed me, sounding pained. "Go apologise to my woman and tell her what your issue is."

I rolled my eyes. "Want me to paint her nails and braid her hair while I'm at it?" I retorted.

Apparently Ranger wasn't in the mood for it. Maybe I should have guessed that, what with the quiet menacing and the yelling and all, but it was too late to take it back. "That was an order," he seethed.

"Yes, sir," I gritted out and was just about to hang up when he spoke again.

"And Tank?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You'll be sorry you said what you said even before I have Lester and Bobby beat your ass. You'll feel like a real dick." And then _he_ hung up on _me._

 ** _Gosh Tank, I thought you knew that suppressing your feelings never ended well..._**


	13. Tank

_This is it, guys, the last proper chapter of the story. There will be a couple of bonus chapters coming, but I can't guarantee they'll come straight away. Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing. It's been a blast to write._

 **13 – Tank**

I took the stairs to the seventh floor, as much to delay my inevitable arrival as to work off the lingering frustration the phone call from Ranger had left me with. Generally speaking, I don't apologise to people, because generally speaking, they deserve whatever I send their way in the first place. But Ranger had ordered me to apologise and despite the fact that we were best friends, and I could get away with a lot, I wouldn't dare defy him in matters regarding his fiancé.

Finally, I made it to the top floor, emerging into the foyer. It wasn't until I raised my left hand to knock that I realised I still had the towel wrapped around it. I cringed, removing the cloth and tossing it aside as I took a moment to inspect my knuckles. They'd stopped bleeding, thank God, but I knew instinctively that Steph wouldn't like it, even if she _was_ angry at me for my outburst. She hated when we got hurt. Especially when it was self-inflicted. There wasn't anything I could do about it now. I had my orders. I was here. Time to grow a pair.

I used the side of my fist to thump the door three times and waited for Stephanie to answer. When she eventually pulled open the door I had to work hard to maintain my blank expression. The vision before me was not pretty, but I would never let her know that, even if I was annoyed at her. Her eyes were swollen from crying. Tear tracks still streaking down her face. Her hair in utter disarray. She took one look at me and crossed her arms over her chest. Glaring.

"I was an ass," I admitted, being sure to keep my hands out of sight so she wouldn't freak out on me.

She nodded. "Yes," she stated firmly. "You were."

A small smile twitched at the corner of my mouth. Steph was never one to beat around the bush. If she didn't like you, she let you know, and right now, she didn't like me. Good. I deserved it. Probably. But she deserved what she got as well. What kind of person buys onesies for every single employee _except one?_ I sighed mentally. Ranger was right. I had to tell her my issues if I wanted answers. As much as I hated to admit it, I was acting like a preteen girl. "I'm glad we're on the same page with that," I informed her. "But I need to ask you something."

Steph looked over her shoulder, back into the apartment. "You can come in," she said quietly, not looking at me. "But only if you promise not to yell at me again."

Nodding my understanding, I followed her to the kitchen, where she hopped up onto a bar stool and picked up a fork to continue eating the cake I'd clearly interrupted. I stood opposite her, hands still in my pockets. "You got all the other men onesies for Christmas," I said slowly, watching the chocolate laden fork travel from plate to mouth. "But not me. Why?"

A strangled sound left her throat. She seemed to be choking on her cake for a moment until she managed to swallow, and then it became clear that she was, in fact, laughing at me. I felt my blank face slam into place. I can't believe I thought Ranger had a point with his order to apologise. Steph had no remorse here. She'd done it deliberately. I should have turned around and walked out then and there, but dread of my boss's reaction kept me rooted to the spot.

"This is about the onesies?" she asked, setting down the fork and staring up at me, that god damned twinkle in her eye.

I nodded.

She shook her head. "I wanted to get you one as well," she explained, hopping off the stool and grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge. She slid one across the breakfast bar toward me, but I made no move to pick it up, still wanting to keep my hands hidden. Suddenly, I was afraid she _wouldn't_ care about the damage I'd done. "But I couldn't find any big enough."

I didn't say anything.

"The idea for the onesies came to me in like July last year when I found the Baymax one for Bobby. I ordered it then and there, but at the time I thought that would be the only one. A few weeks later I was browsing the internet and found the perfect kigurumis for like, three more of the men. That's when I decided I needed to do this for everyone. So every couple of weeks, I'd buy another one and put it away. Let me tell you, finding the storage space where none of you were likely to look during an apartment check was hell. I ended up having to moving all my clothes out of the dresser." She glanced at me as she flicked her hair out of her eyes and must have noticed my unimpressed look, because she continued hurriedly. "Anyway. A few times I ordered one for you in the biggest size they had, thinking it would fit – I got everyone's measurements from Ella – but when they arrived they were always way smaller than listed so I had to send them back."

She sighed, shaking her head and took a pull of her water. "I kept trying up until the week before Christmas. I had one shipped over night. It was still too small. So I asked Ella to make one for you. She couldn't get it done before Christmas though, what with the traditional Rangeman Family Christmas Dinner she had to organise. And then there was her two week vacation in January. I guess I should have told you that you were definitely getting one, but it was still coming. I guess I was feeling guilty for not having it there for Christmas and as long as you weren't bringing it up I was happy to not bring it up."

"Denial Land," I said, realising what had happened. She'd thought it was better to not mention the present since I hadn't said anything about it. And it probably would have been fine if I hadn't discovered that everyone else had received a onesie for her. It's not like I expected to get a Christmas present from her. All I'd done was put in for the group present some of the guys organised for Steph and Ranger to have a weekend away together.

"Exactly," she agreed. "I'm sorry I made you feel left out."

"Its fine," I assured her. "I would never have even realised if it weren't for the guys going stupid with the weather."

There was a short pause during which Steph stared at the kitchen counter and I stared at her. After a few moments, she snapped her head up and grinned. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "I almost forgot! Ella finished your kigurumi this morning! I was going to give it to you next time I saw you. It's a good thing I left it here, rather than taking it home to my apartment to be burnt to a crisp."

My mind was still processing her words, trying to fit all the new information in with everything I knew or assumed. I wasn't doing too well at it. "What?"

"Your onesie," she said simply, placing her water on the bench beside her half finished cake. She then rounded the counter, barely even hesitating before she plunged her hand into my pocket to grab mine. "Come on."

I let out an inadvertent hiss of pain as her engagement ring scrapped over one of my tender knuckles. She froze, staring up into my face for a long minute even after I'd schooled my expression. Slowly, she dragged my hand out and gazed down at it.

"Tank?" she asked, concern colouring her tone.

"Its fine," I assured her once more.

"Is this because of me?" she pressed.

When I shook my head no, she gave me a pointed look, clearly not believing me. "It's because of me," I insisted. "I should have asked you about it sooner. Instead I let the situation get out hand. Sorry about that, by the way."

"You already apologised," she reminded me.

"Thought I should use the actual word," I explained.

An unknown war played out on her face before se finally made a decision, letting go of my hand and crossing her arms over her chest. "You have to go see Bobby straight away," she said firmly, her no-nonsense expression in place.

I opened my mouth to protest. She'd just told me she had a onesie for me and she was going to send me away without it? I didn't even get to _see_ it? Cruel woman. If we'd tried the same thing with her we would have been subjected to an earful and then had to carry her down to Bobby.

" _After_ you open your really, extremely late Christmas present," she amended with a smile and proceeded to use my forearm – careful to grab closer to the wrist in order to avoid the bandage still covering my gunshot wound – to drag me into the living room where a prettily wrapped present sat on the coffee table with my name on it.

Steph picked it up and held it out to me. The quietly excited smile almost eclipsing the lingering effects of the crying jag I'd caused. I looked from the present to her face and back a few times before she stepped forward and lifted my hands, pressing the gift into them. "Open it," she insisted.

I did so slowly, savouring the fact that she was practically jumping up and down. She was more excited than I was for this moment, and I have to admit that I was pretty excited to have my own onesie. Not that I ever thought I would be. It was a ridiculous notion. But she'd gone to a lot of effort to make sure I had one. So what if it took a little longer than expected and I'd gone a little stir crazy thinking I'd been left off the list entirely and wasn't even classed as a real friend?

"Ta-ank!" she protested. "Just open it! I wanna see it!"

Pausing in my meticulous unwrapping, I glanced up at her. "You haven't seen it yet?"

She shook her head. "I got Ella to wrap it for me. Hurry up!"

I smirked, slowly peeling off another piece of sticky tape while maintaining her eye contact.

She scowled. "Tank, I swear, if you don't open that present right now, I will confiscate it and you won't have a onesie at all. It will be mine and I will wear it just to spite you even though it will be way to big."

With her threat clearly laid out, I took a step away from her, tearing one end of the package and reaching in to pull out the garment. It unfurled easily in a multi-coloured cascade and I juggled it a little to find the shoulders and get a better idea of what I was looking at. It was multi coloured, made of individual rectangles of fabric. I looked over to Steph who was trying to suppress her laughter as she took in the sight.

"Ella's been into quilting lately," she explained. "Really into it, apparently. She must have patchworked it all together." She grimaced. "Sorry about that."

Shaking my head with a laugh of my own, I pulled her into a bear hug. "It's perfect," I told her.

"You'll wear it?" she asked, tilting her head back to look at me.

"With pride."

Her grin got a little wider then. "Fantastic! Go put it on," she instructed. "Lester invited me to movie night with the guys. Admission by onesie only. You're my plus one."

 _ **If you'd like to get a better idea of what Tank's onesie looks like please go to Google and type in "I recently got into quilting... REALLY into it," and click image search. It should be the first picture to pop up. I think you'll know when you've found it.**_


	14. Epilogue - Bonus Chapter

_So, having just posted my new story Letters From War, and been coerced into an epilogue for it, I recalled that I promised you all an epilogue for this one. And since I was in a writing mood this morning, I decided to write it. (I believe I promised a_ couple _of bonus chapters, but I managed to combine both into the one epilogue)_

 **Epilogue**

It was freezing. The cold snap that had been predicted had arrived with a vengeance. Snow blanketed the town. But that didn't stop business. If anything, it had made business crazier. With at least a third of the staff out sick, I was forced to cover a stake out shift with none other than Lester Santos.

Don't get me wrong, Lester's a great guy, and he's good at his job, but stake outs with the man are like torture. I used to think there was nothing worse than putting up with Lester on a mission, but at least on a mission there was usually something to do, some way for him to expel his excess of energy. On a stake out he was trapped. There was nowhere to go. Very little room to move. And with the weather the way it was; with everyone confined to the building unless leaving was absolutely necessary, he'd be even worse.

 _The talking!_

I was in the garage, making sure the SUV we'd been assigned for the evening was fully stocked with everything we needed when he emerged from the elevator, two thermos mugs in one hand and a bag of snacks in the other – like he needed any more energy. At first glance I assumed he was in his uniform. All black, black embroidered logo, cargo pockets, boots. They were all there. But when I looked again, I wanted to pick up the car and throw it at him.

"What the hell are you wearing?" I demanded, straightening from my car inspection to cross my arms over my chest.

He stopped dead in his tracks, spreading his arms to glance down at himself. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" he asked, pouting like a child.

"It's not Rangeman Uniform," I informed him.

"I think you'll find," he retorted, crossing the lot to set down the items he held. "That it fits the uniform description." And then, like he was reading from a page, he recite the uniform code from our contract, while gesturing to parts of his clothing. "While on duty, unless the circumstances require otherwise, each Rangeman employee will wear a uniform provided by the company. The uniform is all black with the black Rangeman logo embroidered on the chest, long or short sleeves depending on the weather. Pants with cargo pockets for convenience, also black. Black boots. While out on field duty employees are required to wear a utility belt with a minimum of one gun and one stun gun attached."

Clearly he'd taken some liberties with the description, because he was definitely _not_ in Rangeman Regulation Uniform. "That's a onesie," I pointed out.

"It's a _Rangeman Uniform_ onesie," he corrected. "Or weren't you listening."

"How do you expect to chase down a skip in those slippers?" I countered.

"It's a stake out, we're not expecting to chase anyone," he complained. "Especially in this weather. Besides," he added, a triumphant look on his face. "These are ugg boots. They have a firm rubber sole."

"Go back upstairs and change into your uniform," I commanded.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "This _is_ my uniform," I defended. "It has the logo and all the requirements and was provided by Ella just like every other uniform I've ever owned."

"It's a fucking onesie, Santos," I spat. "Go upstairs and change."

"Come on, Tank," he pleaded. "It's freezing out there. I'm just trying to stay warm so I don't get sick like every other member of the team."

I sighed. If I made him go upstairs and change now, we'd be late for change over. How had my life come to this point? "If you wear that onesie, you're not allowed to talk, or fidget."

A grin broke out across his face. "You're the best, Tank!" he exclaimed, and wrapped his arms around me, pinning my arms to my sides. "I couldn't possibly fidget in this, it's comfy as."

"Not talking starts now," I informed him. "Go get in the car."

*o*

The next morning I returned to my apartment on the fourth floor to find a stack of freshly laundry from Ella. I decided to put them away before crawling into bed, knowing that when I woke up later, I would a) not have the energy to do so, and b) probably not have the time either before I was needed on the floor. I grabbed the pile and carted it to my wardrobe, separating it into shirts and pants, but at the bottom of the pile was something that was neither. I picked it up by the shoulder seams and held it up to look at.

And almost died.

It was a Rangeman Uniform Onesie.

Last night, while I'd sat shivering in the driver's seat of the SUV, even with the heater, Lester had been snug as a bug in a rug in the passenger seat. When I'd asked how he could possibly be so warm with the single layer on, he'd confessed that he was wearing a Rangeman tracksuit underneath. He was a pain in the ass, but he was also a genius in some areas.

I laid the Rangeman onesie aside on the chair in the corner and changed into the patchwork one that Steph had gotten me for Christmas. I'd been wearing it to bed, because I'd never found anything as comfier. It was hard to find clothes that fit and were comfortable in my size.

When my alarm went off hours later, I didn't want to get up, just as I'd predicted. I was warm and snug and still tired. I lay there for several moments, staring at the offending noise maker, wishing death upon it, before finally reaching out from under the covers and sliding my finger across the screen. I then lay there a while longer, finding the motivation to get up. My supplementary alarm went off. Reminding me that I was being a baby, and I thrust the covers aside before I could think twice about it. I set the coffee pot brewing, and stumbled into the bathroom for a shower.

I emerged not long later, wrapped in a towel and wanting nothing more than to slide back between the sheets and never surface again – maybe I was getting sick. I crossed the room to the wardrobe, pulled a long sleeve Rangeman shirt over my head, and then glared at the cargo pants that provided absolutely no warmth whatsoever. I grabbed a pair anyway, because I was running out of time, and turned around to put them on, when my gaze snagged on the onesie I'd set aside early that morning.

"Fuck it," I growled, and tossed the cargoes aside. I grabbed a pair of basketball shorts to wear underneath it, conscious of the possibilities of a wardrobe malfunction, and pulled on the most comfortable piece of attire I'd ever owned. Following Rangeman uniform policy had never felt so good.

With that out of the way, I shoved my feet into my combat boots, poured myself a cup of coffee and was on my way upstairs.

I'd just sat down behind my desk when my phone rang.

"Yo," I greeted.

"No," came the cool female voice from the other end.

"Diana?" I questioned, pulling the device away from my face to check the caller ID. I was right. It was, in fact, the manager of Rangeman Miami.

"We are not doing onesies," she informed me. "You look ridiculous."

"It's comfortable," I told her. "And warm."

"We don't have a problem with warm down here," she pointed out.

"Well up here we do," I retorted. "And until Ranger comes back and tells me not to wear it, I'm going to wear it."

"You'll be the death of me yet," she muttered and hung up. As far as confrontations with Diana went, I'd gotten off lightly. There were no threats made and I didn't fear for my life. If anything, her exasperation had actually lightened my mood.

I set to work getting the paperwork done that I'd been neglecting the past two weeks and was in the middle of reviewing a rather in depth report from Hank when I felt a presence in the doorway.

"What are you wearing?" Ranger demanded, sending a sense of déjà vu skittering through my stomach.

"Rangeman uniform onesie," I replied.

"Why?"

"Because it's cold and I think I'm getting sick."

He stared at me for a whole minute without saying anything before turning on his heels and heading for his own office. Five minutes later I received an email from the boss with an updated uniform policy attached:

 _While on duty, unless the circumstances require otherwise, each Rangeman employee will wear a uniform provided by the company. The uniform is all black with the black Rangeman logo embroidered on the chest, long or short sleeves depending on the weather. Pants with cargo pockets for convenience, also black. Black boots. While out on field duty employees are required to wear a utility belt with a minimum of one gun and one stun gun attached. Rangeman uniform onesies may be worn only in winter for the purposes of extra warmth during stake outs only. Rangeman Uniform Onesies must not be warn during regular field work or to client meetings. Rangeman employees who wish to wear a uniform onesie inside the building during shifts allocated for paperwork must have a regular uniform on hand to change at a moment's notice in cases of emergencies._

 **The End**


End file.
